SILENT HILL: further down the ladder
by berserker-lonewolf
Summary: Silent HillJacob's Ladder crossover. After Jacob's mysterious dissapearence, now the Ladder is taking it's fury out on the ever sceptical Rod Alessandro. Can he survive the fury of the Ladder? UPDATE! NEW CHAPTER 8 ADDED!
1. Prologue: Hell

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Legal Disclaimer: I do not own either Silent Hill nor do I own Jacob's Ladder (Dante's Inferno). They are copyrighted by their respectable owners. Enjoy the story…

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-Prologue - Hell-

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Mekong Delta, Vietnam - October 6th, 1971 (15 years ago…)

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War was Hell.

…And boy, was Charlie good at making it that. They had been deep in the jungles for a good week and a half now. Midway into it, they found themselves in an ambush with what they thought to be local village militia. It was pitch-black and it was like they were pouring out of the woods like a bleeding festering wound. Rod, as well as the rest of his group, had been edgy during his stay, perhaps also a bit nervous. During the ambush, however, he was scared out of his wits.

There were no bombs going off around him; no explosions that filled the starless sky with light and color. Only gunfire. His comrades were scattered, but behind him he regretted because he felt that if he was behind or mixed in with the group, he might feel a little more safe. Perhaps it was better that he didn't, cause he blindly emptied three clips from his standard issue berretta into the darkness, not even certain if he was hitting anything other than wood and air. But eventually, he heard a loud pop accompanied with a scream.

And then the enemy fire stopped.

Everyone looked blindly around, confused. Their group leader and Sergeant, Mike Strokie, walked through the soldiers whom were still alive with his flashlight switched on and began scouring around the area for any remains of the enemy. Laying dying from a slug in the stomach inside some bushes, was a Vietnamese boy that looked as if he weren't even 13 wearing the usual triangular straw hat and torn clothing. He was just a kid.

Strokie called out for one of the soldiers who knew the language and afterwards asked the boy how many was with him. The boy spit in his face and choked out something in his native tongue, telling that the American army came through his village three days ago and killed everyone. His mother and father were shot to death while his older sister was raped and stabbed; left to bleed to death, as well. He was the only survivor and swore revenge on all of the Americans. Shortly afterwards, he died.

Everyone was speechless about the terrible story told by the young boy, but wasn't anywhere close to shocked. They had heard similar stories from other soldiers outside their platoon. Some told by crying soldiers, others by the ones who bragged about the deeds. But their unit was nothing like those animals. They were better than that. They were good soldiers.

Since then, nothing had happened. They were at the moment, camped outside a marsh near the jungle in what appeared to be an already ransacked village; no bodies, nothing. Only the huts remained like an eerie ghost town. The whole day, they sat there. Waiting. For anything.

As evening came close, Rod and his buddies sat around near one of the huts close to a thicket. There was Jerry, Chunky Paul, Doug, Big George, Frank (whom he sat next to), and shitting out in the woods in front of them, was "Professor Jacob." It was a little funny that a guy who graduated with a philosophy honor would actually avoid skipping the draft. Why the hell would this guy want to come here, he wondered from time to time. Jacob stood out the most from the group; the joker, always smiling.

As everyone passed joints around and conversed, Rod sat there as he ate his rations, thinking about his poor old mother that he had left behind back in the Bronx. Whenever he got the chance, he would write letters and send money to her. She was a devout Catholic, which was the only thing that bothered him. Personally, he thought the idea of God was a little far fetched to believe in. He couldn't see, hear, smell, or touch Him. But if her beliefs made her happy, so be it.

As he thought of these things, here came Jacob with his pants pulled up with a sheepish expression ready to portray a smile at any moment.

"Hey, professor." Rod called out, musing. "How many times can you shit in an hour?"

Jacob only answered with a grin wrapping around his sweaty face accompanied with a small chuckle.

"Unless he's got muku-shits, man." suggested Frank, before he spitted out some food.

"Why do you even bother pulling them up?" asked Rod.

Jacob only chuckled again.

Then George, the History grad, chimed in with a mischievous smile. "Ah, you jerkin' off again, huh Jake?"

Jacob triumphantly laughed in response as he sat down next to the group laying his rifle down.

"Come on over here and jerk on this." suggested George, still joking. "Come choke my black roots."

Everyone in their small group burst into snickers and laughter at the conversation at hand. George then added an innocent "Please…?"

Paul, the chubby one of the group, spoke in broken laughter to Jacob, "He's… asking you politely."

George's quip was matched by the Professor when he replied, "Ain't got a fuckin' tweezer, man."

The then escalated with "ooh's" and clappter as for that one moment, they forgot where they were and everyone was having fun. And then all of that stopped when Sgt. Strokie came whirling by, screaming, "We got Gouks in the tree-lines!"

Then chaos ensued. Everyone ran to whatever position they were supposed to be at, all except for Rod and his friends, whom began to feel sick all of a sudden. Something was wrong, and it was then that Rod collapsed to the ground, clutching his forehead in agony. "It's my head!" he shouted amongst the moans, screams, and chaotic chatter. "Help me! Somebody, help me!!"

He then shouted out to Paul, who was closest to him since Frank wandered off to vomit. As Rod's face and eyes were grinded with mud and his skull feeling as if it were to split in half, he shouted, "Aaaargh! Paul, help me!!"

Then what Rod saw next were terrifying pictures that had entered his brain in flashes. He saw his mother whom smiled with the Catholic rosary in her hands, then her passing out and collapsing down the apartment stairs, her death, her funeral, and eventually, a vision of her rotting, worm-infested corpse inside a coffin buried 6 ft. into the earth.

This was enough to send him back into the air on his feet and into a screaming berserk rage as he continuously and violently spun around in a 360 degree angle; knocking down anyone who came into contact with him. Of Paul, a random soldier, and Frank whom surround him in an effort to calm him down, Rod's fist slammed into the side of Frank's face with a force that flung him almost 3 feet away to the ground.

Then came explosions followed by gunfire. They were surround. Everyone flew around the village in a panic as soldiers fell around shot to ribbons or blown to pieces. Rod collapsed to the ground again, screaming some more as his burning dirt-clogged eyes darted around the camp. And then he saw them, the ones attacking him. Charlie company. His enemy. Jumping back to his feet, he pulled out his gun and charged quickly into the fray to kill all of his enemies as he screamed out all the curses of the human language…


	2. Ch 1: Paul's Dead

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-Chapter 1 - Paul's Dead-

Rod slowly opened his eyes to find himself once again out of his constant war nightmares and back into the subway train in which he was traveling on. He took in his surroundings as if he had only seen them for the first time. This always happened every time he had one of his Vietnam flashbacks of that night 15 years ago. Rod was now 36 with short shabby dark-chestnut hair with the same color of eyes to accompany them. He was a short man, 5'7", who worked as a taxi driver and shaved every two weeks, giving him five-o-clock shadow beard stubble. He was wearing a long, brown leather coat with khakis and an "I (Heart) NY" shirt underneath. He, just like his war buddies, remembered nothing except the occasional small flashes and that is it. All they now is out of a battalion of 40 soldiers, only 7 of them survived. But the only question was, how?

He hadn't seen any of them in years, except Frank, who was his closest friend and also co-worker. He didn't really care to. Not that he hated any of them, but the thought of doing something out of his daily routine annoyed him was all. They're all really swell guys, he thought, but would it make things any better if I saw the rest of them again? Besides, he had other things on his mind besides reunions.

His mother had also died 15 years ago after having a stroke and collapsed down the stairs; breaking her neck in the fall. It was while this happened, that him and Frank were at a local party; Frank helping him get aquatinted with a girl had been wanting to hook up with. Rod's final words to his mother echoed over and over again in his mind; _"Mama, I'm only gonna be gone until midnight. You'll be alright here by yourself. Your not that old, y'know?"_

No matter how much he buried his burden, it was still too much to bear. It was only Frank that was there for him in his time of need. Not only did he show up at the funeral with a bouquet, but he had even helped him carry his mother's casket. Even though Rod said nothing, it had definitely meant a lot to him. As for dealing with the death of his mother, he did the only thing he could do; block her out and show nothing.

He then pondered the reason why he was inside a traveling subway train. At first, he couldn't remember that, either. Then he remembered something about his cab breaking down and this was his only method of getting back home because the other drivers were booked with someone else. Yes, his home was… an apartment in Brooklyn… his mother's. He then got from his slouched position as the lights of the train flickered in and out, causing a slow strobe light flashing. The current car he was in appeared to be empty, so he slowly headed for the next one.

The other one was indeed lit, and was accompanied with two extra travelers. One was a dirty young teenaged girl with long brown hair and wearing tattered rags with her head buried between her knees, crying. She sat the furthest away towards the front left of the train. Rod wasn't really too concerned with the girl, so he moved his attention to the other gentleman in the car that was closest to his right. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with short scraggly gray hair, beard stubble, and yellow teeth dressed a dirty blue-and-white striped shirt with stained jeans. He also smelled bad, as if he hadn't showered in a month.

As the man rocked back and fourth with a blank, unblinking expression on his face, he continuously repeated the numbers, _"…7...0...3...1..." _over and over.

Being around crazy people always made him nervous (as would it any other normal person) so he proceeded to the next car, when suddenly, it came to a halt at the destined street station. He hesitantly walked out the car door into the station waiting area. For some reason, the train had given him the chills. It was never like that before, only this time, something just felt out of place. Shrugging it off, he proceeded up the steps, took the usual turns, proceeded through the turnstiles and up the stairs that led out into the street. For some reason, everything look eerily empty on the streets around him.

Ignoring his paranoia, he proceeded to the complex in which he lived in. Through the double doors and up the stairs he went when he arrived. Everything was run down and filthy with graffiti all over the walls. As he traveled up the urine drenched stairs, he could hear the fighting of a married couple above him. Once he arrived on his floor, he could hear the furniture breaking and the children crying as the mother was beaten senseless in front of them.

These things did not concern Rod. The excuse was simple: it wasn't his business. However, these matters always concerned Frank. From what little information Rod had learned for as long as he had known him, he had come from a broken home. The man could be as tough as nails when he wanted to be, but could also easily be emotionally broken if you pushed him long enough. There also appeared to be something else there that would bother him from time to time, though he would never mention it. But he could see it in his eyes. He had been acting weird around him a lot during the past 3 weeks. Out of that, he had even missed a week of work, too. This didn't sound like him at all.

Rod twisted the key to his doorknob and opened the door. He walked in and closed it as he removed his coat and hung it on the post nearby. His home indeed reflected that of the outside, which was disorder. Whatever junk you could possibly think of was there in the floor; soda/beer cans and bottles, pizza boxes, bills, underwear (both his and not his). What would his mother think?

He wasn't poor. Far from it, actually. He held an okay job and his veteran's pay for his service in Vietnam was indeed very handsome. If he wanted, he could find a much better place to live than this shit-hole. He even swore he would when he came back and would take his mother with him. But he didn't. He couldn't. Not now after his mother had died. It was as if he was compelled to stay.

_Rod treaded through the jungle, armed with a berretta and a machete. He bled from wounds caused by knife cuts, bullet grazing, and even scratching. But they were nothing that he would die from. For the first time in his life, he truly felt alive, as if he could take on anyone and anything. Suddenly, he heard the snapping of twigs from somewhere around him. His head cocked back and forth in an attempt to discover the source of the noise._

Suddenly from behind, came a screaming Vietnamese man armed with what looked to be a stolen assault rifle in which only his unit was issued with. The enemy fired at him, some of the shots hitting him in the left leg. Rod howled in pain as he clutched his wound. With his attention diverted, the scout rammed him against the tree with the rifle pinning his throat and with fury displayed through gritting teeth like an enraged beast.

Rod let out a mad howl as he head-butted the man so hard that it shattered the bones in his nose and sent pieces into his brain. As the man staggered, raising his rifle upward, Rod swung his machete and severed the man's hand from the wrist; the rifle pouring endless rounds into the dirt and forest. Rod then charged into him with almost inhuman strength and impaled him into a tree with his blade. As the dying Vietnamese man gasped his last, Rod removed the machete and the man fell to the ground.

But rod didn't stop there. Screaming something inaudible, he hacked away at the enemy's head, over and over again; drenching himself in warrior's blood. Once he was finished, all that was left of the man's head was chunks of meat, brain, and skull fragments. Proud of his kill, Rod quickly limped further into the jungle in search of more adventure to quench his thirst of battlefield fury.

Rod was awakened by an explosion on TV. It was some random movie that they were showing. As he sat there, settling back into watching television, the phone began to ring. Rod looked at his watch, which read _11:45 p.m._. He got up from his couch and wandered towards the telephone. He then picked it up and answered with a hello. At first there was silence, then a _click_ on the other end from whoever it was that hung up. Pretty steamed, he slammed the phone back on it's receiver. He had been getting a lot of those, lately.

Again, the phone rang. He picked it back up and shouted to whoever it was on the other end. "Whadda you want!?"

_"…I-It's me, Frank."_ spoke his friend on the other end.

"Oh, hey Frankie." said Rod, relieved. "Sorry, I thought you were that creep that keeps callin' here."

_"Paul's dead."_ Frank said, in a tone that was mixed with both sorrow and fear.

Rod was stunned. "W-what are you talking about?"

_"Jerry had called me and told me all about it. Something about his car blowing up. Nobody knows why it happened. It just… exploded."_

"It… blew up?"

_"Um, listen. I… something just came up and I've got to go right now. I'll see you at the funeral. Until then, don't look for me."_

"What!?" Rod responded. "What the hell are you talking about? Frankie?"

Frank had already hung up.

Rod placed the receiver back on his phone and tried to digest all that he had heard. Not only of Paul's death, but of Frank, his closest friend, and what he had said. _Don't look for you,_ wondered Rod. _What's the matter? Is there something you're not telling me?_

The funeral service was as slow and dreary as the rain that fell from above as they stood around the casket. Listening to the reverend, watching the casket be lowered into the pit, accompanied with military rifle shots in the distance to honor it. Once everything had been said and done, the sad parade of umbrellas flowed across the cars; each one finding it's own. All, but Paul, of the survivors were there. Jacob led the front. Jerry had already left for Paul's house where the service still continued. Doug and George fell behind the group side-by-side. Next to Frank, they were the most quiet. And shortly behind Jacob was Frank and his wife.

Rod never hardly spoke, either. As everyone left, he kept his pace but also a slight distance from Frank. He followed them both like a curious puppy, but never close enough out of uncertainty. Once everyone piled into their vehicles, everyone head for the same direction as well. Rod rode with Frank and his wife in their car, but without a word exchanged between either of them. To be honest, Rod didn't know if whether or not to say anything. Would Frank really want him to say anything to him?

Paul had a beautiful house. If it hadn't been filled with mourners that day, you could have seen more of it's beauty. It would remind you of a house that belonged to one of those nice sitcom families where everything went smooth. Not so for Chunky Paul, anyway. Even if he hadn't seen him since the departure from the hospital back in Nam, he was still bewildered as to why would such a bad thing would happen to such a nice guy. The whole thing reeked of conspiracy cover-up. Or maybe he just watched too much TV.

Rod and his friends eventually found themselves together around the kitchen. They had made small talk about themselves. George, who sat next to Doug at the table, had went on to become a history teacher at a public high school. Jerry, whom was in between Jacob and Rod, was an accountant. Doug, whom was drinking at the table, lived off his veteran's pay. And oddly enough, Jacob, whom had studied to be a collage philosophy professor, went on to become a mail man. Rod and Frank spoke a little also, but not to each other.

Finally, the silence was broken again. "Did anybody see the police report?" asked Frank, in a suspicious tone as he lit up a cigarette. "Sounds like a _bomb_ to me."

_That would explain why Frank's been acting creepy as of late,_ thought Rod.

"Paper said it was electrical;" added Jerry. "it was an accident."

Rod finally chimed in with his two cents. "That's bullshit." he said. "Someone's coverin' something up. That was set man, that was no _accident_."

Doug raised up from his bottle and glared at Rod with sarcasm in his statement. "Why? Paul wasn't hated by anyone in the world."

Rod replied with a shrug and went back to his corner.

Frank then turned his attention to Jacob, who was pacing back and forth. "What did he say when you all went out? Did he say anything?"

Jacob stopped to answer the question. "Well, he was upset. He felt people were following him."

"Yeah, who?" asked Doug.

"He didn't know…" Jacob was a little hesitant to bring up the next part out of fear that his comrades might have thought that both he and Paul were insane. But if there was a chance that they were all suffering the same visions, he had to take it. "…Demons."

George, who was cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief then stopped at the word.

Rod thought that was stupid. Paul wasn't _that_ weird. "_Demons? _What the fuck you talkin' about _demons?_"

Jacob didn't really know too much to say. "…He thought he was going to Hell."

Doug was the next to stop his activities and turn his attention to Jacob.

Rod's sarcasm was then replaced with concern. "Well why would he say that for? I mean, what would make him say that?" Rod then looked over at everyone else. "That's strange, right?"

George griped the beer bottle in his right hand, taking great interest in what was said. "What else did he say, Jake?"

"He was scared." replied Jacob. "He was seeing things coming out of the wood-work. 'They're trying to get me,' he said."

Then with a nervous choke, George asked, "Did he say what they looked like?" His right hand then began to shake so hard that he ended up dropping the bottle unto the carpet; spilling out all of it's liquid contents. Everyone stared at him as he asked to be excused while he left the room, wondering what was wrong with him and at the same time, knowing exactly what it was. All of them except Rod, who of course still teased him jokingly about his kidney problem.

"In one end and out the other, _huh_ George?" he said with a smile. "Still a fuckin' spaz."

Rod then picked up the bottle and placed it back on the table with a small chuckle. "I hope he can hold his dick better than his bottle."

Rod then looked around the room and instead of seeing amused faces, he saw horror and uncertainty in them. Frank was even… crying.

Rod was a bit confused. "_…What?_" Perhaps there was more to his friends lives than what he had thought.


	3. Ch 2: Red Tape

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-Chapter 2 - Red Tape-

Later that day, Jacob rounded up everyone up onto the roof of his apartment building and everyone but Rod shared all of their tales of horror about being stalked by masked men in dark coats, skinless dogs, cars, things crawling out the walls. Jacob even claimed that he saw the Devil himself rape his girlfriend at a friend's party! Yet everyone _but_ Rod saw these hilarious images that kept these grown men up at night. _For God's sake,_ thought Rod. _We fought in a war! Are we really that afraid of the dark!?_

Unable to tolerate their childish _boogieman stories _any longer. Something intelligent had to be said. "Yeah, well not me, buddy."

"Okay, not _you_, Rod. The rest of us are going out of our fucking minds!" snorted Jacob.

Doug then brought up an interesting point. "Do you think it has something to do with that night?" He, of course, was referring to their black-out in Nam.

"Eh, It's got something to do with something…" replied Jacob. "I think we should go see the Army. They're not telling us something, so we gotta find out what it is."

"Oh come on, Professor!" Rod mocked. "What makes you think that the Army is going to give you any answers, huh? I mean, you're going to be buttin' your heads up against a brick wall!"

Jacob took in what Rod had said and then mumbled under his breath, "We got to get ourselves a lawyer."

"Ah, you should find yourself a shrink." added Rod.

Jacob responded by flipping him off under his coat pocket.

Rod wasn't getting through to any of them. "You're all fucking paranoid." he said. "It's bad grass; that's all it was, man! I mean, there's no such things as fucking _demons_, man! C'mon!?"

But no matter what he said or tried to convince them otherwise, they were already set in their beliefs. Everyone afterwards left the roof and immediately head to the law office down town to plead their case. Rod would have called it quits, but he did believe none-the-less that something fishy was going on. Jacob even said that their veteran doctor, Dr. Carlson, had been bombed, as well. Rod knew that something was definitely up with those bigwigs in the military. Besides, if they not only got their case, and won it, Rod as well as the others would be extremely rich. Money was a devil he would never deny.

After a long wait, their patience was finally reward when a pudgy lawyer named Geary greeted everyone and motioned them into his office. From there, the others told their story of why they thought they were experimented on (but of course, leaving out the demon stories). After a while, the lawyer finally, agreed to look into it. It was as if they had already won. Rod was even pleased. Perhaps this event could shine some light on some of the insanity that had ensued.

_A wild cry could be heard in the distance; not too far from where Rod's position was in the jungle. He quickly proceeded further into the jungle until he came across the grizzly sight of a wounded soldier with his left arm missing up to his shoulder. Judging from the torn areas of flesh and loose bone without any burn marks, it appeared as if it had been ripped off. His bottom lip was also missing, which gave him a zombish appearance, but he was still alive._

Just then, another native surprised both of them as he came out of nowhere and knocked the wounded soldier down, hitting him in the head with his own severed arm. Once the killer threw it to the ground, he quickly reached for his rifle and unloaded into the corpse until it was almost unrecognizable as human. Once he was finished, the enemy then turned his crazed attention towards Rod. Rod's only response was raising his machete high into the air and charged with a battle cry at the large man who was armed with a knife, also.

Rod was then woken by the phone again. Rod had fallen asleep as always on the couch, staying up all night watching TV. He drowsily got up and went to the phone to answer it. "Ugh, hello?"

_"Hey, Rod. This is Frank."_

"Yeah, Frank." said Rod. "So any news on the case, man?"

_"Um, yeah… about the case…"_ Frank's tone suggested anything but good news. _"Rod, let's just drop it all together. The case; everything."_

"What!?" asked Rod, baffled. "Are you fucking bonkers? What about the Army, man!?"

_"Rod, you were right, okay? It's just Nam trips from smoking their grass is all. It's just all in our heads, really."_

A frightening thought then came across Rod. "Frank… are they harassing you or something. C'mon man, you can tell me!"

_"Everybody else has dropped out, too. Okay? Besides, Geary doesn't believe us anyway."_

"What do you mean he doesn't believe us?"

_"He said he checked into it and said it was a load of bullshit. Besides, Jerry's…"_

Rod swallowed hard. "Jerry's _what?_"

_"Mm… never mind. Rod, I should have listened to you. I'm sorry. But whatever you do, don't do anything. Just give in. It's better that way…"_

"Damn it, Frank! I'm not gonna be intimidated by these guys. If something really is going down, we gotta fight it; right here, right now!"

_"I was afraid you'd say that. That's pretty much what Jake said, too. Goodbye…"_

"No, don't hang up…!"

_"…(click.)"_

At this point, Rod was so furious that he ripped the telephone out of the wall and flung it across the room. Not only was he pissed about the case and the supposed threats, but was also worried as to what he was referring to when he mentioned Jerry. _What did he mean about Jerry,_ he wondered. _Did the army get to him, too?_

And just at that moment, there was a slow knock at he door.

Rod turned his attention to it, as he listen to the slow _boom… boom… boom…_ the door made. Rod carefully tiptoed towards the door and as he looked through the peephole, he saw that nothing was there. He then lowered his eyes away from it to then hear a light _rustling_ sound below the door. He looked down and watched as an envelope with brownish-red stains was gently shoved under the door. Rod carefully bent over and picked it up. Something hard other than a note was inside. He then ripped off the side edge and dumped out the contents. A metal army dog tag caked in dried blood fell into his hand. He then looked closely at the imprinting. It read: _"Hinkley, Jerry"_

_"…Dream on!"_

A deep scratchy voice that belonged to a man hissed loudly beyond the door. A little freaked, but curious, Rod brought his eyes to the peephole again and what he saw terrified him. Just as was described by his friends, outside stood a tall hooded man in a coat who dressed completely in black leaning against the hall wall. Before Rod could let out a gasp, the figure then instantly appeared directly in front of his door; it's cloaked head now a frightening blur. Rod fell backwards unto the dirty tile floor in shock, then got back up and swung open the door to face the entity.

Nothing. Nobody was there. It was just himself glancing around the hallway. Rod had finally realized that perhaps he had underestimated the situation at hand. _Am I going to see these things, too_, he thought to himself. He had to see Frank and the others. He didn't want to go crazy alone. But first, he had to reach Jacob. If Jacob was still going to fight this, he needed to help him at least. Rushing back into his apartment, he got dressed to go out. After putting on a pair of dark chestnut khakis, a pink button-up long sleeve with a black tie, and his favorite brown leather jacket, he was instantly out the door.

Rod avoided any taxis or other vehicles so to lower his risk of getting killed by yet another bomb. As long as it was from where he lived to Jacob and his girlfriend's apartment complex, on Bergen Street, he felt at least safe at the moment. Jacob had told him and the gang after the funeral to meet him at Room 14-G. Rod wanted to ask Jacob's girlfriend, Jezzie, if she knew where he was.

Come to think about it, he had never seen her before. Jacob had said that she was with him at the funeral, but they were never introduced. After all, he didn't want to make an ass of himself and mistake some random lady to be his missing friend's lover. That just sounded too creepy. But as long as he remembered the room number, he should be just fine. As he arrived at the steps of the complex, he quickly went inside.

Once he arrived at 14-G, he knocked at the door. But instead of Jacob or a beautiful lady arriving to open it, there was instead a crusty old geezer of a man smelling of dried sweat and semen; strapped to a wheelchair with two amputated twitching nubs for legs. The man pointed his cane at the man who had disturbed him.

"What the hell do _you_ want!?"

"Whoa there, Skipper." jested Rod with his hands in the air. "I'm just looking for a buddy and a girl of his is all."

"Yeah, well there ain't nobody like that here, so _git!_"

"His, um, name is Jacob. Jacob Singer. I just need to--"

"Didn't you hear me say no one like that lives here, cock sucker!? Now beat it before I call the super!"

"Right." said Rod as he walked away from the old man. "_Whatever!_ Fuckin' geezer…"

Rod was confused. Wasn't this where him and his friends had met him that day on the roof? Now someone else lived there. As Rod headed back outside to Frank's home, he went down the list in his head. Dr. Carlson was the first to die from a car explosion. Then Paul. Paul started seeing monsters. Then everybody else admitted seeing them, too. Their case is dropped. Jerry is obviously dead somewhere. And Jacob falls off the face of the earth. Everything made sense so far. Seeing that Frank was the last to speak to him, he could probably tell him something about their conversation.

"Frank!?" Rod swung open the door to his best friend's apartment to find that everything inside was gone. The nice, neat, clean, organized apartment was now empty and lifeless. No furniture remained, nor any photographs. Not even the garbage can remained. He wandered around the empty rooms for awhile, calling out to him and then noticed of all the room doors that were open, the bathroom was closed.

Rod cautiously approached the door. "Frankie, man? You in there?"

Silence.

Rod clutched the knob and pulled the door open. Frank, whom was completely exposed except for his underwear, hung by his neck with a toaster cord wrapped around it and the iron curtain rod above the bathtub. He had been dead for a few hours now. Rod at the moment was in too much shock to feel anything as he observed his friend's corpse. His coffee colored skin now a shade of a pale mushroom blue. Rod then noticed a folded note in Frank's left hand. Rod reached out and removed it from Frank's loose grip. He unfolded it to find a poorly scribbled suicide letter. It read:

__

To Mommy Baby Bonnie

The spooky man in glasses called me to say I was gone to dead bad men who follow me. I gots 2 sea Paul again tried to come out wal an want to take daddy away to the devil. Man black coat hospickable needle fire help I don want 2 dyie. I luv u it s nice heer

Fank

Rod sat alone on a bench in the city park; tears silently rolling down his cold cheeks. It had been so long since he truly been afraid. He had no earthly idea as to where Doug and George were. Chances were they were dead, too. The dead, leafless trees around him reminded him of that. They looked like black cracks in a glass picture frame as the sun fell into the New York sea.

Rod eventually sat up from the bench and decided to walk around town, unknowing and uncaring as to what to do next. As he strolled through Madison Square, surrounded by beautiful lights of advertisements and eventually snow, he came across a shop window with a series of playing televisions. As Rod glanced at the multiple screens, he didn't need to guess what the news reporter was discussing. In the TV screen, a Buick was being pulled out of the river by some docks with a large crane. The screen then flashed two pictures; each of dead veterans. The captions read that of, "Hinkley, Jerry" and "Rhames, George." Rod could have gawked at them all surprised, but he wasn't. With Doug nowhere, it was only a matter of time before _he_ was next.

But suddenly, as if God had sent him an answer, a pay phone in which he happened to cross by began to ring. Rod stopped and stared at the phone, wondering if he should answer it or not. It seemed a little dumb that someone would call a payphone. Not unless, of course, he was being watched. _What the hell,_ he thought. If he played into the hands of fate a little more, maybe he would find some answers. He yanked the phone of the receiver and began to speak.

"Hello?"

_"Yes, thank god! Is this Rod Alessandro?" _asked the voice on the other end.

"Who the fuck is this!?" demanded Rod. "Are you the one following us!?"

_"My name isn't important right now."_ said the man, who seemed to be in some kind of hurry. _"Listen, you and your friend, Doug, are in serious danger. You need to find him, fast!"_

"What the hell's going on?" asked Rod. "I don't understand."

_"I tried to find Doug, but he fled into the subway. He had a gun on him."_

"Doug? Why is…?"

"_I'll call you again. Get to the station and find him! I'll explain everything to both of you when we're safe…"_ The voice trailed away with a hang up.

Rod ran from the payphone and rushed towards the nearest subway station staircase. There were so many in Manhattan, but he had to try. Doug couldn't have been too far.


	4. Ch 3: Subway

****

-Chapter 3 - Subway-

After searching out the empty station on the current street, Rod hopped into the subway train towards the next stop. As he stood there, clutching the reigns of the ceiling for balance, he contemplated if whether or not he should have come armed. Especially during this time of night, which was by now 11:45 p.m.. His tension was high and the faulty lights of the train car only made it worse. He just hoped that he could find Doug in time.

As he gazed around the empty car, he slowly began to develop a sinking feeling of sorts, as if something wasn't right about his surroundings. He wasn't seeing anything; not yet, anyway. It's like when a person strains too hard to see something out of nothing from beyond the reaches of their vision. The empty car gave him the chills, so he pushed forward into the next one.

And to his surprise, the scenery was almost exactly the same as it was the last time he had boarded the train. The smelly lunatic to his immediate right still remained; dressed completely the same as before, but now repeating a different set of numbers. Now it was, _"…3...9...7...5..."_ The crying girl, on the other hand, was replaced at the end with multiple stains of blood and a pair of stained cotton panties.

_Jesus Christ,_ thought Rod as he tried to determine if whether or not the stains were real.

The smelly man then lurched unto Rod's arm and began to blurt out, "Hey! Wanna guess what my new number is? 3,9,7,5! 3,9,7...5!"

Rod then flung off the man and kicked him away. "Get off me, man!"

The crazy man only broke into laughter in response.

Rod walked away from him and went further into the train; his eyes still glued to the bloodspot to his left. He then entered the next car, which was completely dark except for the lights on the sides of the tunnel. Rod stalked through the car, looking around for any surprises that might pop out on him. He made his way to the end and then went into the next car. Thankfully, the lights were on.

And it wasn't until halfway across it that he felt as if he was being watched from behind. If though he didn't desire to see what it was, he slowly turned around anyway. At first, there was nothing but the dark car behind. Rod turned his head back around, but still couldn't change the uneasy feeling of voyeurism. So he turned completely around this time. The darkness was now gone. The light revealed everything, including the black coated man from beyond; placing his left gloved hand on the now sweaty car door window.

Thankfully, the train came to a halt and the side door opened. Rod cursed and quickly ran outside to escape the mysterious figure, who never gave chase after him. The door afterwards only closed and the train pulled back out with the black figure's eyeless gaze staring into Rod as it and the train disappeared into the dark tunnel. Rod clutched his chest and panted as if he had run miles from the thing. _What is that,_ thought Rod. _Was it the guy that called me!?_

_Grrrrrrrrrrrrgh…_

Rod spun around as he stared into the barely lit wait area to his left. He couldn't really tell what it was, but to Rod, it sounded like a very pissed dog. Rod wasted no time in running towards the first staircase behind him. He fled halfway up the steps to be greeted with a cage-like gate blocking the rest of the way out. He grabbed the handles, regardless of the chains, and shook them. It was locked.

"Shit!" he cursed.

Rod then glanced back behind him to see if anything had followed him. He didn't hear or see anything else. He was so concentrated at what wasn't at the bottom of the staircase, that he didn't hear the wet-pealing _cracks_ from in front of him as a large hand out of nowhere smacked him in the face with brute strength and sent him crashing down the steps and onto the cold concrete below.

__

Rod knelt over the large slain man, whom laid face-up dying. Using his machete, he began to grind and slice through the meat and spine of his neck. Rod never knew people were so fragile as his machete went through so easy…

"Argh…" Rod shook away the sting of the hit as his tear-filled eyes strained to see what had hit him so hard.

At first, the light at the top revealed nothing from in the middle. Then Rod finally saw a oval-like shape poke out from the side in front of the cage. It didn't take long for Rod to realize that it was a… head. After it looked around, it sunk back into the dark, only for it's whole body from the torso up to reemerge from the wall with the same _crackling _sound. Rod locked his eyes on the silhouette in sheer terror; unable to move. The partially lit creature looked at him for a moment, and then quickly sunk back into the tiled wall.

Rod the sprang drunkenly to his feet and was about flee in the opposite direction when he heard groans from before. Only this time, a pair of skinless, glistening jaws with sharp teeth emerged from the dark and snapped at him. Then Rod took off back in the other direction. He ran until he reached the opposite end of the stairs and quickly flew up them. To his fortune, this staircase was not blocked off. He ran up and around the steps until he made it to the top. Thankfully by then, he heard three gun shots ring out from down below in another section of the station.

_Doug,_ he thought as he ran down the other end to hopefully meet him.

Once he reached the bottom, he wrapped around the steps and further into the stop area. A train had already pulled in, which was odd because he hadn't seen or heard another one do so. Almost halfway into one of the side car doors as an arm that belong to a man. As Rod came closer, he saw a chubby bald man in a business suit laying face down in his own blood with bullet wounds in his back. It was their lawyer, Geary. It was as if he had tried to escape into the train, but was killed before he could. And standing above him, was the long haired Doug, dressed in a black wool trench coat; a wooden cane in one hand and a pistol in the other. The gun was still aimed at Geary, who was already dead.

"Doug…"

"That pig…" muttered Doug, his eyes still fixated on the corpse below him. "That fat son-of-a-bitch! It's all his fault that Frank and the others are dead! If he had only helped us, none of this would have happened! Why did it have to come to this?"

"Relax, man." Rod attempted to calm. "Take it easy…"

"You stay back." Doug then aimed the gun at Rod. "Stay BACK!!"

"Doug… this is Weasel, man. This is _me_ your pointing the gun at."

Doug then began to tremble in confusion. "How do I know it's you?"

"Because they're coming after me, too."

"What? So you see 'em, too now?" Doug lowered his gun. "Now you believe us?"

"Yeah," Rod answered. "Those things are crawling all over this subway, man. We need to get out of here, right now!"

It was then that one of the side car doors opened. Both Rod and Doug looked that way as the veiled man in the black coat stepped outside, and he was armed with what looked like a pipe. Doug let out a scream as he fired a shot at the figure, who then blinked back out of existence before Doug had even squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the side of the train with sparks.

Just then, another wall creature popped out of a tiled podium structure and wrapped it's long arms around the shrieking Doug as if to pull him back into the concrete. Rod sprinted over by his side and held onto his arm; trying to pull him from the wall man's grip. "Let go of him, you bastard!"

The wall man only growled as it tightened it's grip around Doug's neck.

Still screaming, Doug spastically whacked the side of it's head repeatedly with his walking cane until it finally loosened it's grip on him enough for Rod to jerk him away. AS Doug fell around backwards, he shot the wall man twice in the face. "Die, mother-fucker!"

The wall man's body then went limp and hung loosely from the wall. The two noticed how the head had only one eye, yet no other facial features and even how it was textured perfectly with what it was trapped in, it glistened with what looked like moist-like skin. It then slowly slipped back into the wall. Rod ran to Doug and checked to see if he were all right. He then looked back at were the monster once was.

"Holy shit!" Rod yelled. "These things are real! You guys told me they were just hallucinations!"

"That was what we all thought!" Doug replied as Rod helped him back on his feet. "But I'm not gonna stick around to see if it comes back!"

And just when things couldn't have possibly gotten worse, a thick _bubbling_ noise came from the train. The side of it was leaking a kind of fiery-gooey black tar. Only instead of another wall creature, came Paul. Rod for a moment stopped breathing as he looked at the fat ghastly figure moaning and crawling out from the black ooze. He was dressed in a singed forest-green bomber jacket with a torn red flannel underneath with khakis and no shoes. His skin looked severely burnt in some areas as he finally fell out of the side of the train. The dead body of Paul then groaned again as he floated off of the floor.

"…Paul?" Rod then felt as if a migraine was about to come on.

Once Doug reloaded his weapon, he fired two shots at the floating Paul; striking him in the side of the head and in the shoulder. Doug then grabbed the stunned Rod and pulled at him. "C'mon, Rod! Let's get out of here."

Rod and Doug then took off, away from the ghost as it floated after them with a hungry groan. Rod didn't run too fast, so as Doug would be able to keep up with him. In Vietnam, a frag shell went off right next to him and completely mutilated his right leg from the knee down. It was because of that, he had to have it amputated and fitted with a steal one, instead. But givin the current situation, Doug did a good job keeping up. Rod helped him up the stairs and out into the main station as Paul just wrapped around into it. Rod leapt over the turnstiles and help Doug over them and continued their escape up the next set of stairs to their right.

They then ran into a frighteningly dark hallway. Rod and Doug uncaringly pushed forward anyway; with a stream of urine now running down both of Doug's legs. With each fluorescent ceiling bulb they passed, another flickered on. And just when they were halfway out of the hall and to the steps that would lead back into the city, a large iron cage swung down from the ceiling and completely sealed off their path out.

Once all the lights were on, they saw that what was attached (or more really fastened) into it was what looked to be a homeless man in a long black coat, ragged fingerless gloves, and with a dark gray scarf wrapped completely around his head; concealing his face completely. Also, a series of meaty-looking ropes of flesh criss-crossed through the bars and around the bum's ankles, waist, neck, and wrists. The bum was shifting his body against his confines with his head constantly jerking or twitching every now and again. Then, two penis-shaped tentacles slithered out by the man's shoes and as if it were snakes ready to strike.

"Un-fuckin-believable!" Rod said. "Is that thing _human!?_"

_Grooaann…_

Both spun around to find Paul floating around the corner, down the hallway.

"For God's sake, kill _it!!_" Doug screamed at Rod as he shot again and again at Paul's floating ghost.

Rod frantically looked around for anything to beat the cage man with. As he searched, Paul got closer and closer to Doug. And just as Doug was reloading, he was accompanied by another long lost friend: George. The same black mess appeared on the wall directly beside him as George's dripping-wet dead body reached out and clawed at Doug's shirt. Doug turned and fired two shots at George as Paul quickly flew at Doug and pierced through Doug's chest and began to squeeze his still pumping heart.

_"Argh! Die, die, DIE!!"_

Doug fired twice at Paul's face as blood began to seep out of his mouth. Yet no mater how much he struggled, Doug was eventually pulled into the black, murky mass in the wall. Rod mistakenly grabbed Doug's fake steel leg in an attempt to pull him out, but it only came off. Doug had disappeared into the void, for good. Rod felt as if he were about to go insane as he searched for Doug's gun.

Then something wet wrapped around Rod's ankle. Just the feel of one of those tentacles burned against his skin as it pulled him towards the cage. Rod clawed at the floor in a final attempt to escape it's clutches, but could not wiggle free. Rod then spotted the gun no for from him. Rod dug and clawed and reached out to the point that he thought the muscles in his arm would burst. And with the grace of God, Rod managed to grab it and clip the thing in half with two bullets.

Rod yanked off the remaining tentacle as the rest of it slithered back into the cage to only be replaced with another one. Rod then came to the conclusion that the man in the cage was in control of all of them. Seeing more bullets on the ground, Rod snatched them off the floor and placed the remaining four into the chamber of the pistol. Once loaded, he then aimed at the man in the center.

It was then that the two tentacles lashed out at Rod; one wrapping around his waist, the other around his neck. Rod then found himself yanked off the ground, into the air, and crashing against the cage with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. Rod then began to panic as not only the tentacles around him tightened their grip, but new ones sprouted out from around him and began worm their way into his clothes and around the rest of his body to lock him in permanently.

_Oh, God! Oh, sweet Jesus! I don't want to die like this! I don't want to die like this!! Please, I don't want to die!!_

Summoning all the adrenaline in his sore body, he slowly pushed himself away from the cage. Away enough to shoot the cage bum in the chest, in the neck, and twice in the head. All the limps flailed about in the air as Rod fell freely back to the ground. Rod ran back out of its way and then turned around; throwing the empty gun into it's face. Rod then grabbed Doug's steel leg around the knee and then charged back at him with a raging scream.

The tentacles tried to wrap back around him as Rod swung the shoe-clad steel foot against the sides of the bum's head, over and over. Eventually, the foot finally broke off, leaving an almost spear-like tip in it's stead. Rod used this and jammed it directly into the center of the bum's twitching head. Blood traveled down the shaking pole as Rod screamingly struggled to hold it in place.

Eventually, all the tentacles slithered back around the bars and the cage finally raised backwards into the ceiling and clamped back into it's holds. The bum still twitched in agony as the steel pole remained in his head. Rod quickly flew down the hall and at last, up the stairs. He was finally free. And the first thing he did when he remerged back into the streets was bawl out in a frightened and frustrated scream.

__

Once Rod had severed it completely off, he jumped back on his feet and held his machete and the head of his enemy high into the air and screamed as if he were the very fury of Hell screaming at the heavens. As the birds were frightened from their nests and took off, so did Rod into the jungles; the head still gripped firmly in his fingers…

The bartender didn't know how much more of the noise he could take. This man had stumbled out of the streets and into _his_ tavern with a look on his face as pale as if he had seen a ghost. Once the man sat down at the bar, he began to tremble from head to toe. The bartender had asked if he needed anything, and the man only replied with, _"…What ever you got."_ Of course, never to be the one to turn down a customer's request, he gave him a shot of whiskey. But this guy hadn't even taken a sip of it, yet. The shot glass rattled loudly against the bar table from the man shaking so bad, that it was slowly beginning to pester him. The bartender would have said something, but was distracted by the phone ringing.

__

Rod felt as if he had hit the bottom, this time. Never in his entire life, did he ever have a trip that even came close to the horror he had narrowly escaped in the subway. Demon dogs and wall creatures were one thing to see, but your dead friends crawling out of the walls and flying after you were definitely another fucking deal. _What the hell could've the army had done to do this to us? Were those things really real or not!?_

"Hey!"

Rod was so startled by the bartender that his shot glass flew out of his hand and onto a ladies dress.

"_Ahh_, watch it, limp-wrist!"

Rod gulped. "Y-yes?"

"Your name, Rod?" asked the bartender with a stern look.

Rod shook his head.

"You got a phone call in the back."

Rod quickly jumped off the bar stool and walked around into the back room behind the bar. The bartender then stopped him. "Hey!"

Rod spun around, not knowing what to expect next. _"…Yeah?"_

"…Don't take long."

Rod shook his head and the large bartender walked away. Rod then saw a red phone off the hook on a nearby desk. He picked it up and placed the receiver to his ears. "H-hello…?"

_"Thank God!"_ came the voice on the other end. _"Listen, is Doug still alive?"_

Rod shook his head. "…They got him. Please tell me what's going on!"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. _"…I see. That's too bad."_

"No, that's _real_ fuckin' bad! Everybody's dead and comin' after me…"

Rod turned back around to see that the bartender was still watching him like a hawk. Rod then turned back to what he was doing and nearly broke back into tears. _"I'm real fuckin' scared, man! You've got to help me! It's only a matter of time before they get me, next!"_

"Alright Rod, listen. If you want my help, you have to do exactly everything I tell you to. First off, get out of the bar and onto the first bus out of New York. Next, I want you to meet me in a resort town called Silent Hill. I'll be waiting for you at Rosewater Park on Nathan Avenue. Can you remember that?"

"Yeah."

_"Good. Tell no one where your going. Rent a car and meet me here as soon as you can. And whatever you do, do not go there unarmed. Crap! I don't have much time. Meet me at Rosewater Park in Silent Hill and I promise all tell you everything! Goodbye."_

Once the man on the other end hung up, Rod wondered if he would ever live long enough to know the truth about what had been going on. But if he could survive the Nam, he could survive this. Rod hung up the phone and ran out the tavern.

__

"Wha.? Hey! You didn't even fuckin' pay for your drink!"


	5. Ch 4: Silent Hill

****

-Chapter 4 - Silent Hill-

__

Rod watched from above in the trees, hidden; perched on a branch gazing at his prey as if he were a raven ready to pick at their corpses once death had taken it's hold. There seemed to be Vietnamese, two of them. Yet both of them appeared to be fighting each other. Rod contemplated meeting them in the fight, too, but was too confused and curious to interrupt it.

They were both armed with combat knives, swinging them at each other without even aiming at what they were swinging at. Around the end, they looked as if they had been both sent through a meat grinder. Ears, a piece of lip, a tip of nose, fingers, and even a testicle were lying around the ground as they still continued to kill one another. Eventually, the one with the groin injury stumbled backwards from the pain and as the other collapsed on top of him and continued with their remaining strength to stab each other in the neck and faces.

And then Rod wasn't enjoying it anymore. What Rod felt now was sick, even horrified. His mind began to sizzle and pop as forest and sky spun around him. What Rod felt was the wind through his skin, cuts, and wet oily hair as he flew from the branch, through the trees and towards the earth below. He then felt the oxygen escape his lungs and out his lips as the pressure from landing on the muddy floor knocked it out of him. As the jungle danced around him, it all slowly began to drape itself in the veil of darkness. First, Rod wanted deliverance. Then, he wanted carnage. Now, he wanted to drift of to sleep. Whatever. Before he lost conscious, he rolled his head to the side to look at the slain men next to him. The wavy melting jungle made them look like Americans. That was funny.

Rod awoke from yet another one of his bizarre flashbacks in yet again, the seat of transportation. Only this time for once, it was on a cross-country bus. It was one of those "tour-the-countries-monuments" crap tours. Rod was never interested in mountains that faces or a big pencil-shaped statue standing in front of a public swimming pool for homeless people. But what did interest him, however, was that the bus pulled in at a diner that he happened to walk by after he had purchased a handgun from some pawnshop, and that there next stop in the tour was Toluca Lake, Silent Hill. It was as if God had dropped the bus right in front of him. After begging and paying the bus driver $50, the driver allowed him a spot in the back. Rod looked around the bus at all the different people with him. It wasn't too crowded at all. Rod felt safe at last. With both the lack and the company, he knew what was around him and wouldn't be freaked so easily. Besides, the passengers paid him no heed whatsoever.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen," spunkily announced the female tour guide. "We'll be arriving at the lovely Toluca Lake in just 3 more miles! This is so exciting…"

And as she went on about an old story of how her and her husband met each other there, Rod's train of thought then wandered on the person he was supposed to meet there. Was this guy going to help him, or was the government's trick to lure him to them. The axe felt pretty heavy above Rod's neck right about now. It was one of those sick feelings you would get whenever the principle had called you to the office after something you had done so many hours ago and thought you'd get away with whatever it was. Then came that booming voice over the intercom system.

"Rod Alessandro, report to the front please."

Those awkward steps out of the classroom, the door you would pull closed behind you as if it were the backdoor to Heaven, the sounds of sneaker steps overshadowing the noisy hall chatter, and then you consider making a break for the bathroom and not come out until school had went out. Rod thought these things now. Should he go back? Should he disappear? Or should he report to the front?

"Hey, Mr. Alessandro! I said report to the front, you're holding up the tour!"

Rod jerked his gaze towards the annoyed tour guide, who besides him and the driver, were the only ones left on the bus. "Huh? Oh, sorry."

And as Rod stepped off, he noticed that sure enough, the bus had pulled into the parking lot to the direct right of Rosewater Park. As Rod looked around him, the sky seemed a milky white with spots of gray clouds here and there like it were going to rain. Just from where he stood, he could already smell the fresh aroma of the lake. He could even faintly hear music and machinery of Lakeside Amusement Park's rides. For a second, he thought he was on a field trip. This was Silent Hill.

Personally, he thought it was a shit-hole.

Rod absolutely hated rural areas with a lot of trees and mountains, especially the people in them. Another reason was he hated the woods because of what it reminded him of in his days as a soldier. "What do people really see in this place?" he asked himself.

Rod then focused on the situation at hand. He had to find that man. Rod followed the group out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. Then they stopped at the entrance and the tour lady began to speak about whatever. Rod left the group, even though he had felt safer with them.. As he strode past the trees down the brick walkway, he came to a small maze of hedges.

He looked around the park for any signs of the man that wanted to meet him. He traveled up and down the railing and back and forth past the hotdog stand. No one motioned for him to come over to them. Rod then thought that it would be more likely if the man was somewhere around the hedges where there wasn't a lot of people. He then wandered around those for a while. Nothing. Rod then guessed that maybe this person wanted him to stay still and he would then look for _him_. So rod picked a bench to the left outside where the Patrick Chester memorial statue stood.

An hour and a half went by, and no sign of anyone who might had been interested in him. This bugged him; not because the man had never shown, but he had the creeping feeling as if something was watching him from afar. It was a feeling the second he stepped off the bus. It reminded him of the fear of being sniped. But it was crowded in the park. They wouldn't do anything in public. Would they?

A crow _cawed_ above him as it flew over and perched it's self on the statue's left shoulder. Rod followed it with his eyes. He then spotted that there was something around the statue's neck. Curious, Rod walked back towards the statue to take a closer look. From where he stood below, it looked like… another dog tag. Rod yanked it of the praying statue's hooded head and in horror gazed at the name on it: _"Singer, Jacob."_

Rod's immediate thought was that he was dead also, but then read he looked at some dark writing on the thin metal on both sides that looked like it was from a thin black marker. It read, _"Toluca Prison - HELP." _It then made him wonder if whether or not Jacob still might be alive, but in jail. At least _he_ got arrested. Rod had around $500 in his wallet, so perhaps maybe he could post bail if it wasn't too big. Or at least visit.

Rod stuffed the tags in his right pants pocket and walked to the front building to where the reception desk should be. Once he was there, he asked where Toluca Prison was. The female clerk looked at him funny and asked if he was a tourist.

"Yes. Please, it's real important. You could you tell me where it is?"

"Well, yeah. It's an old abandoned Prison further down Nathan Avenue past the Historical Society down by the lake. But I don't think you'd be allowed down there, sir. Besides, I hear it's haunted down… there?"

But Rod had already left through the front door. As Rod went back on the sidewalk of the street, Rod heard loud explosion with a small wave that nearly made him stagger backwards. The boom and screams came from the parking lot. Rod as well as drones of other curious bystanders rushed to see the fuss. The tour bus that Rod had arrived on was now cracked in half with pieces as well as singed corpses scattered around the concrete; a towering inferno. Some passengers staggered out aimlessly before they finally collapsed to the ground. It was then that Rod knew that they had followed him here.

Rod quickly ran from the screams and "Oh my God's" and took off down the road. As he slowed to a walk, Rod passed several road advertisements on his way to the prison. He felt tired and hungry and stupid for walking this far out from where he could have at least gotten something to eat first. He then saw a small structure off by the side of the road. As he came closer, he saw the sign by it that read, "Silent Hill Historical Society."

"Thank God." huffed Rod. "Almost there."

He walked down the road a little further, and eventually came across a dirt road from behind the guardrail. Rod then climbed over and traveled down the road that lead into a few trees. Then came a long concrete wall that stretched far around with a wide rusty-metal gate at the center. The sign by it, confirmed it to be the Toluca Prison. And the chain wrapped around the handles with a lock securing it confirmed that nobody was allowed in.

"Crap."

Rod looked around for something useful to break it with. He could have shot it off, but that might draw some negative attention. Luckily, he found a big rock by a tree, so he picked it up to then be surprised by how heavy it truly was. "This aught'a work." he grunted. Once he heaved it back to the doors, he brought it over his head and shattered the lock off the chains. With the doors now unlocked, Rod pulled one of the heavy doors open and walked inside.

The road wind-down further down the cliff and into what was a thick void of fog. And after taking a few steps, the heavy door immediately slammed shut behind him. As Rod ran back up it, he could hear the loud rattle of chains and metal followed by a _click_. Afterwards, something was tossed over the wall next to where Rod stood. Rod looked down to see that it was a red pocket flashlight. He had been locked inside the walls of this place. Away from other people. This was indeed bad.

Rod picked up the flashlight and looked it over. "Why the hell would I need this?" he asked. He then frustratingly walked down the road and into the thick fog. Rod pulled out his gun from his coat pocket and readied himself for who or whatever might surprise him as he walked down along the edges of the cliff. It didn't take long before he reached the dark facility. It was pretty big, but not as tall and wide as what he had originally imagined to be a prison. After walking around it, looking it over, he returned to the front entrance and placed the pocket light in his top right coat pocket.

"Well, guess I better go inside." And Rod opened the creaky double-doors and disappeared inside the darkness.

Finally, Rod had come to the first step of unmasking what his nightmares truly were…

_ _


	6. Ch 5: Toluca Prison

****

-Chapter 5 - Toluca Prison-

Immediately to Ron's left was the prison's reception desk; dirty, smashed, and ancient. As Rod shined his newly acquired flashlight around the area it was in, it resembled what would basically be your condemned building. Broken marble, various trash, even some graffiti here and there that would suggest this to be a spot of adventure among teenagers. Rod hated kids. Aside from the environment, there was a door immediately ahead of him at the end where the fork into the hallway began.

With his gun drawn, he quietly walked to the door in front of him. Upon twisting the metal knob, Rod accidentally pulled it off the door and dropped it; making a sound as it hit the floor that echoed down into the darkness of the hall to his left. With a curse, he then turned his attention to the stairs on his right as well as the doors one each side of it's entrance. Unfortunately (yet, odd), the stairs were sealed off with iron bars; allowing no entry into the upper levels of the prison. Rod didn't mind, though. It meant less for him to look at.

Then turning his attention down the hall ahead of him, he treaded down into the depths of what was the visitors hall. Ignoring the bathrooms as well as the other doors due to lack of interest or hunches that he wouldn't find anything in them anyway, Rod finally stopped at the visitation rooms. Rod didn't see any other ways that might lead further into the heart of the prison. Pulling the handle of what read, "Visitation Booth 2," Rod walked inside.

Inside there was but only a single chair that faced a wooden bar with a pane of glass dividing the room in half. There was nothing of interest on his side of the glass, yet on the other side of the glass laying on the oak banister, was a torn photograph. Rod pressed his temple against the dirty window and shined his flashlight down in an attempt to see what it was. Not that it was all that important to him, not knowing what something was.

Rod, wanting to try and get on the other side, picked up the chair below him and brought it against the window again and again. Light scratches on the surface were the only things it produced. With another curse, Rod threw the chair to the side with a loud _crack!_ Giving up, he decided to try the next room.

__

But to his surprise, as well as his small delight, the room was in shambles as if a bomb had obliterated what separated him from the other side. Rod then continued to the door at the end and exited the room. He was now in a larger, longer, and much filthier hallway with even fewer doors. He then remembered the picture in the last visitation room and decided to try the door directly in front of him to his right. Thankfully, it was open. As he walked inside, his eyes instantly darted to the picture. Now upon closer inspection as he picked it up and held it to the light, he could see the image it held.

__

There was a man, bound to a chair with chains. He was dressed in an auburn colored suit with cuts in the fabric here and there. It appears he had been cut and beaten mercilessly by whatever put him there. There was also blood all around the floor as well as coated on the man's chest. He's identity, however, was still a mystery since the picture was torn diagonally upward from right to left; cutting the mans head from view. Rod turned the picture over and written at the bottom was almost enough to rise a gasp out of the veteran. It read, _"Hinkley, J. - We still couldn't find the rest of what was missing."_

"Dear God, Jerry…" Rod whimpered.

The small sounds of _creaking_ could be heard from behind outside in the hall. Rod spun around and aimed at whatever it was behind him. He was able to make out the back of something in a wheelchair rolling by. But that was all. At last, Rod's fear had finally returned to him. With the hairs on the back of his neck upright, Rod tip toed out the door and it wasn't long before he could hear what he prayed he never would again.

The sound of canine growling.

To his left, the skinless beast leapt unto him; knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. Snarling and chattering it's teeth, slime dripped from the animal's jaws as Rod tried to push the animal away. Then another from some unknown direction joined the feeding frenzy. As the second one latched onto his right coat sleeve, Rod's left the other animal for a moment as he drove his knuckles into the snout of the dog; knocking it back with a _yelp_. Before the first demon dog could claim him, Rod fired a bullet through it's mouth and out the back of it's cap. Forgetting the other dog, Rod ran for his life down the hall away from it. He could hear the barking, the gnashing of teeth. And it grew louder, with many more! Nearing a dead end, he flew into the nearest door and slammed it shut behind him.

The sound of wild animals instantly ceased. All was silent once again. Rod, sliding to the floor and breathing heavily, pondered if he truly would ever live through this. As many times as he tried to figure it out, why were such horrific apparitions trying to kill him? Rod looked down at his right arm and confirmed his dread. The fabric of the coat's arm was torn. The creatures… were indeed real.

"Frank…" he whispered. "What did we bring back with us from Vietnam?"

Finding whatever mental resolve to stand, Rod took a step forward and then stopped. His skin went cold and clammy, as if Death had just spread itself into every space of the hall. For in this hall, there were no doors. There were cells. Rod swallowed hard as he looked around; peaking every now and again into the different cells for any signs of life or unlife. They ere all different, yet the same: disgusting and unfit for humans to be caged in. It wasn't until the fifth cell block that he noticed something… a puddle of red on the floor with what looked like "meat" at the center. As Rod came to it, he knelt down for a closer look. The _meat_ appeared to be a bearded severed bottom jaw.

Then there was dripping. Rod didn't look up. There hadn't been enough time for him to try. It was upon him as he came to the conclusion as to _who_ the jaw belonged to. Something wet coiled around his neck like a pink noose of flesh; pulling him off the floor and higher into the prison rafters. As Rod struggled to look up, he flashlight in his coat pocket could see faintly the source of his hanging. He being pulled towards what looked like… a small pool of black. Another one of his dead comrades was trying to kill him!

_"Oh! Oh, no…!"_ he choked as he was pulled closer towards the bubbling crude of the void.

Rod's head stopped but inches from the tarrish puddle above him as the tip of a head peaked out to meet his frightened gaze. Then came a sound of strained moaning with cracks in its sound. Rod met the eyes of Hell, and those eyes belonged to Jerry. Rod lifted his gun with what zapped strength remained and shot it in the skull. With a shriek, it sank upward back into it's pool and released Rod; sending him crashing back to the floor. Ignoring the pain of his fall, Rod coughed as he tried to suck air back into his raped lungs.

And then it wrapped around his right ankle. Rod looked down to find yet another black mass bubbling into the surface. Rod looked down at the pink, slimy muscle that clutched him. It as a tongue! The same head then popped out from the black fluid, accompanied with two arms clawing at the surface. As the dead figure of Jerry pulled itself out of the floor, for the first time since his days in war, Rod let out a shriek of pure horror. The bottom of Jerry's mouth had been ripped off of his face, leaving only his tongue and broken upper teeth behind.

It began to make that same skin-crawling sound as before. Rod was too paralyzed with fear to move. He laid there, reduced to a blubbering baby as Jerry's mutilated form crawled across the floor in jerky, mechanical movements as it dragged it's feet from behind.

_I don't want to die…_

It was clawing up his legs.

_No in this place…_

It's teeth now scrapping across his stomach.

_Not now… not alone…_

Jerry's tongue coils around Rod's throat once more; it's fingernails now digging into Rods face and eyes.

_MOMMA, DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!_

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggghh!" Rod lifted his gun and fired into the ghoul's chest until his gun was finally empty.

At last, it left him. But not from the gun shots. Something was dragging Jerry back into the pool! Once Rod's eyes came back into focus, he struggled to see what it was that was dragging the spirit back into the abyss. He saw nothing but the panicked look on Jerry's twisted half-face as he was dragged back down into the depths of Hell by an unknown force. Rod sat there for a moment as he watched the black spiral in the floor close up and disappear again.

Rod then brought his hand to his eyes and wiped the tears from them. "I… I can handle this."

Rod pushed himself back onto his feet and continued down the hall of cells until he reached the door at the end. He pulled the handle and exited. All was silent once again. He was now in a hall similar to the one he was in before he escaped into the southern cell blocks. Rod now realizing his gun was useless without bullets, he shoved it back into his coat pocket. _If I get into anymore trouble, I will be toast this time,_ he thought.

Rod then came to two doors: one on the left, and one set of double doors on the right. "Storage," was to the left, and "Courtyard," was to the right. First, Rod chose the storage room in hopes of finding anything-_anything_ that would fend him from the beasts and ghosts that lurked on these grounds. Twisting the knob, he walked inside and looked around. The shelves were littered with various things, but nothing of interest or defense. It was then that in one of the corners, he found a wooden baseball bat. Rod hurried to it and gripped it by the handle. Once he was certain that it was sturdy enough not to break on him, he walked back out.

Rod then looked at the doors of the courtyard with an air of uncertainty. Not as if the whole building wasn't unsettling enough, but there was something different he felt beyond the doors. It was cold, and familiar… Rod didn't want to go out there yet. He then continued up the hall to the final door on his left. He pulled the handle, opened, and walked inside as he closed it back behind him. And to his dismay, he found himself in another cell block. He had went in a complete circle.

_"Just fuckin' great…"_ he whispered.

It was then, that he heard… whistling.

Curious, Rod traveled towards the tune of what sounded like it was coming from human lips. The further he came to the source, the more familiar it sounded. It wasn't until Rod began humming it to himself that he remembered what it was. It was a song. The song was called, "Sonny Boy." Rod knew of only one person who would sing that song to himself.

"Is… is that you?" Desperation now accompanied his tone. "Yo', Professor, is that you?"

"Huh, wha? Who's there?"

The voice. It _was_ human. Rod ran towards what looked like faint light from one of the cells ahead. Rod ran to the bars, relief now feeling his troubled heart. Gripping them firmly, he smiled as he peered inside and then shouted, "What the-! Hey, your not _him_!"


	7. Ch 6: The Scientist

****

-Chapter 6 - The Scientist-

"Ngaah!" shrieked the stranger inside the cell, then afterwards settled into weak laughter. "Heh, Sweet freakin' Christ, I thought you were one of those monsters…"

Rod's eyes scanned the prison cell that the strange man was occupying, as well as it's occupant. He was a scrawny twig of a man who looked pretty disheveled and dirty as if he were homeless. His hair was long and shabby which seemed to curl and stick out in every other direction other than down, making him look almost clownish. His long, hooked nose with a large pair of glasses slipping down them didn't help his image either. Around the room were notes, letters, newspapers, but most noticeable were the long white candles that surrounded the man in an almost 360 degree angle. They also had a strange symbol engraved in them.

The man had seen that Rod had noticed them. "Huh? Oh yeah, those? Oh yeah, you're gonna need those, man. You can bet your bottom dollar that you're gonna want one of those around, man."

"Who are you, man?" asked Rod.

"Oh!" The man threw up his arms as if he had just remembered something and then walked up to the bars, and shook hands with Rod.. "Right. You must be Mr. Alessandro. _Rod_ Alessandro, right? We talked on the phone?"

"Ooh, thank God, man…" Rod whimpered as his head slid down the bars. "You have no fuckin' clue how nice it feels to have a likewise mind around here."

"Was it easy getting here?" asked the man, either out of sarcasm or misplaced words.

"What do you think? You know, it's not every freakin' day one of your buddies comes out the floor, crawlin' up your leg with no mouth!"

"Yeah, well it's good that we finally meet." the man replied with a relieved smile on his face.

"…You were the one that left Jake's tag on the statue, aren't you?" inquired Rod.

"Yeah." the man answered. "That was the very least I could do. I hadn't been there for 3 minutes and already they jumped me and dragged me here to rot."

"_They?_ Who the fuck's _they?_"

The stranger only glared at Rod, as if Rod should already know.

"…It's the Government, is it?"

The man shook his head. "Yeah. It's bad. Real bad. But if you wish to know more, you gotta get me outta here."

"Wha? How?"

"Th-there's a key around here, I'm sure of it… That's it! Of course!"

"What? You know where it is?"

"Yeah. I think I saw Frank with the key! I'm sure he has it!"

"Frank?" Rod was insulted. "What the hell you m--?"

The prisoner gave Rod another glare.

"…Oh." Rod was silent for a moment. "He's here, too. Isn't he."

"Rod, I'm sorry about your friends. But if you want me to help you, you got to help me first."

"…Okay. You know where he could be?"

"The courtyard; I'm positive he's there. As I was dragged down the hall, the doors were open a little and I could see a glimpse of him on the other side; dangling the cell keys as if it were mocking me!"

Rod looked at the man, then at the floor indecisively. Rod didn't want to see _him_ again. Not as a…

"Please." begged the man. "You're my only hope at redeeming myself. If you help me escape, I promise you I'll make them go away forever! I know how! I've done it before!"

"So you're telling me you can make these things vanish? No more creatures?"

"Yes! But first, you have to get me somewhere safe. Afterwards, I'll spill everything to you."

Rod stared at him with eyes that would speak only betrayal and doubt.

"…The truth. You deserve to know that much."

Then came the sound of an iron door slamming. And then the rattling sound of metal against metal as if it were a hellish xylophone. And then, in the lightened vision of Rod's flashlight, came the masked man in the black coat. Wielding a pick axe. The masked demon lifted the pick axe effortlessly with a single arm and aimed the head at Rod. It chose Rod as the first to die.

"Oh, Jesus, man! C'mon! What am I supposed to do?"

"Make a run for the courtyard; you won't do any good against that devil!"

"What about you?"

"It can't hurt me with this barrier up. Besides, it still needs me."

"Alright. I'll come back for you, man. And then you're gonna start given me answers."

_"GO!"_

As Rod left the prisoner and ran past the man in the coat, it swung it's pickaxe with a force that would have torn him in half if it would have connected. Thankfully, Rod ducked at the last minute, almost tripping over himself and continued his sprint out the door and back to the courtyard. Once Rod had disappeared out the door and down the hall, the shrouded creature turned it's attention to the lighten jail cell. It calmly walked up to the bars, but stopped 12 inches from them.

The thin prisoner quickly retreated to the center of the blazing candles and stood his ground with a triumphant (yet nervous) grin. "All right, you piece of human waste! You know the rules…!"

The masked figure in the black coat stood silently and said nothing in return. And then it took a step forward. And another. And another. And to the prisoner's shock, it leaned forward; forcing it's covered head in between the bars first. With a symphony of sickening pops and cracks of it's bones shifting and stretching, it then slipped through it's right shoulder. Now it was in midwaist. It then reached for the closest candle and picked it up. Holding it at eye level with the frightened prisoner, who was now slumped on the floor urinating on himself, the man in the coat turned it upside down. Before the small flame had a chance to eat its way up the wax, it went out. The man in the coat then released the candle and let it fall to the concrete floor; breaking it in half once it landed. The prisoner stared at the candle in horror, knowing that he was indeed completely defenseless against this demon.

_"DREAM ON."_

---

Once Rod made it to the courtyard doors, he clutched his knees; panting in short breaths. _"This… is not very fun…"_ As he was catching his breath, Rod noticed a piece of paper taped to the left door that wasn't there before. It was a note written in cursive red ink. He pulled it off and began to read it. It read:

_The ring; the one that's around Frank's finger with the keys, is an old relic that I found here in this town. It has a spell written into it to bind a spirit into a suspended state of animation. You should be able to take the keys easily. That is, if you're able to escape back inside with them before he wakes up again… because the ring won't work twice._

I painted the correct key red.

At least the ring would by him some time, Rod thought. Even though he felt the helpful note to be suspicious. But even after Rod got his bearings back, he was still hesitant to open the doors outside. Rod thought of Frank hanging in the bathroom again. It was an image he tried to block out the most, even more than the jawless Jerry. Frank was more than just a friend to him. He was his brother. And the more he thought about his demise, the more he grew to no longer fear the monsters, but hate them. He wanted to make these things, whatever they are, to suffer. Just like they made Frank and the rest of his friends suffer. Most of all. He wanted to make the political pigs responsible for whatever part they had in this to pay, too. Rod reminded himself that if he could last in the jungles of Vietnam, he could survive in the dark of Silent Hill.

And at last, he pushed open the doors.

The sky was red. Night was beginning to set in, so he left his pocket light on. The courtyard was pretty vacant, just as he expected a prison courtyard to be like. As he walked further and further out, he spotted the gallows. And hanging from it, was the shirtless corpse of Frank La Salle. As well as a ring of keys attached to he's first right finger. The noose, and the keys. And as the note said, Frank did not move; he's lifeless face as porcelain as it ever was.

Rod reached out to the keys, hesitant at first, and then quickly yanked them off of it's finger. Then came a strong headache; a migraine so bad that it brought Rod to his knees. Frank began to slowly rise out of the gallow and then quickly propelle toward Rod, but was halted with a loud _crack_ as it's noose prevented him from getting any closer to him.It moaned louder and louder as it struggled to get him. Rod pulled himself to his knees and ran back for the door screaming back to Frank that he was sorry.

Rod ran back up the hall, with the keys gripped firmly in his left hand and the baseball bat at the ready in his right. Reaching the cell block door, he swung it open with a loud _bang_ that echoed throughout the hall. "Hey, man! I got the keys, let's get the hell out of here!"

Then Rod noticed that there was no longer any light coming from the man's cell. Alert, Rod crept over to the cell with his bat drawn for any surprises. And it was a surprise indeed that he found once he made it there. Inside, the candles were out. And the man was still inside alive. But in the arms of another wall man, like in the subway. But it made no attempt to drag him in. Only to hold him in place; one of it's freakish hands covering the mans mouth. Holding him so he can watch.

Rod turned around and nearly lost his head when he ducked out of the way of the huge pick axe as it hit the bars with a force that would have broke ether the bar or the handle. Once Rod got to his feet and backed away, he realized it was the masked man again. But Rod didn't feel like running this time. Now _he_ wanted to be the one to cause pain. With a fit of anger, Rod swung his bat downward at the masked man with all of his might. And the bat broke on contact in between the creatures neck and left shoulder, slightly dazing it.

"Shit." Rod cursed before the masked man's hand shot forward and wrapped around his neck with an iron grip. It then lifted him off the ground, suspending him in the air, and then threw him across the hall. Rod hit the ground as his body rolled out sprawled on the floor. The creature wasted no time as it walked quickly over to it's prey. It went to swing again, but Rod rolled out of it's path yet again. The pick axe struck the floor, cracking the floor's surface.

But the pick axe did not come back up. It was stuck. The monster struggled at wedging it out of the floor. Rod used this to his advantage and tackled the masked man to the floor. As Rod straddled the cloaked figure, he brought his fist up to strike it, but the masked man grabbed his fist. Then his other fist. As it gripped his knuckles, Rod brought his forehead down with a smashing force and buried it into the masked man's face. Finally free, Rod jumped up and pulled free the now loosened pick axe. It was indeed heavy, but as the masked man began to get back on it's feet, Rod thrusted all his strength into his arms as he swung down the mighty pick axe and buried it into the masked man's chest, nearly ripping him apart as a spray of blood bathed him. The masked man collapsed to the floor with a grunt and fell silent. It moved no more.

Instantly, the wall man released the prisoner and sunk back into the depths of the wall. The man ran to the bars screaming. "Hurry, hurry! Get me outta here!"

"Hold on a sec.!" Rod fumbled for the crimson key, stuck it into the cell door's lock, and freed the thin man from his prison.

Then came the sound of bubbling again. Back down the hall, Frank's now free body, with the noose still around his neck, emerged from the door quickly. Once out, it didn't float towards Rod like the others did. This one flew. Fast. As it darted towards them, Rod and the stranger made their way towards the opposite door. They had barely made it through before Frank had reached them. As they then ran towards the visitation room, the spirit had already began to melt through. Rod and the man ran away from it, but to no avel, it would always be making it's way inside well before it. Once back inside the visitation hall, they quickly sped towards the front entrance of the prison from Frank's ghost that was now behind them.

Once back outside, both Rod and the man ran towards the hill where the outside gates were. Three skinless hounds immediately gave chase after them with snapping jaws. Once back at the gates, Rod remembered that they had been locked in. "Shit, the gates are locked!"

"Boost me up over the gate! I'll break the lock!" said the man.

"What?"

"Just do as I say!"

Rod gritted his teeth as he helped the man over the wall. After an excruciating two minutes, the lock to the gates shattered. And Rod pushed himself out it as the dogs made their way into view. Then both Rod and the other pushed the gates back closed, sealing the demons back inside. They were tired, hungry, dirty, and shaken. Otherwise, they both made it out unharmed.


	8. Ch 7: Chemistry

****

-Chapter 7 - Chemistry-

Heaven's Night had to be the second most happening place in Silent Hill at the time. Almost hidden behind Pete's Bowl-O-Rama, it was the best this rural community had to offer. Packed with all sorts of types from the scruffy drunk to the clean-cut business man, it was indeed a place to unwind. It was pretty small for a bar, though. There was little light filling the room with dabs of neon only where it was lit. The rest was dark with shadows moving about amongst the performers onstage. Thankfully, they were people.

Tonight, the bar was packed full to watch some concert; a local favorite among the women who were employed there. She had an almost phantomlike voice as she swayed about the stage dancing to the beat of guitar and tambourines. The audience grew wild. But amongst the howling and cheering, only two in the bar did not stir. They sat out of the light and in the furthest corner back as far from everyone as possible, close to the bar's entrance. The waitress just delivered their meals to the table and left. Once they were certain that they were safe, they finally spoke to one another.

"…So," asked Rod. "Where do we begin?"

"Well…" replied the scrawny man as he shoved the forked steak into his mouth. "We should head over to the Alchemilla Hospital over in the business district. Once we're there, we can--"

"No." interrupted Rod. "I meant with _you_. What's your name?"

"Oh, sorry. I still haven't told you my name yet, have I?" he extended his hand out to shake again. "My name is Michael; Michael Neumann. I was, er, in the military too, so to speak."

"What do you mean?" Rod asked. "Where you a soldier or somethin'?"

"Well, no exectly. Or not really, actually. I was… a scientist for them back in Saigon of 1968."

"A… scientist?"

"Yup. Back in the those days I was pretty drugged-out, but wasn't necessarily apart of the hippie movement. No protesting or any of that stuff. I guess I was close enough to being one, though. All my friends were. The only exception being I was a straight A student. Who'd a thunk it? Me, a stoner-genius. Anyway, me and my friends where having this killer frat party and I had whipped up a special batch of my campus-famous LSD that I used to jokingly call the "Show Stopper." Unfortunately, it was too famous for it's own good, hence that night, the Feds came and broke the party up and my ass got hauled to Riker Island Prison."

"I take it that had a part in you becoming a scientist, right?"

"Oh, you bet. Especially when every muscle-bound animal in prison wants to make you their new boyfriend. I was more than happy to."

"I don't get it." said Rod. "What do you mean."

"After 13 hours of praying to God not to get killed in jail, I'm led into an office by guards and lo' an behold I'm greeted by army generals. Indeed, I was a star alright. I was quite the little genius, they said; showing me my own scholastic records. Now here's the kicker: they wanted me to fly out with them to Vietnam not fight, but to do lab work for two years as a scientist. And in return, my criminal record would be flawless."

"Looks like you got a better deal than I did." commented Rod.

"I figured Vietnam would be Nirvana compared to jail, but maybe I was luckier right where I was. Those cock suckers used me and got exactly what they wanted!"

"…And what was that?"

"…A body count." Michael held his head in shame. "If you only knew the horrors I'm responsible for. But you do."

"What did you do?" muttered Rod in a low, snarling tone.

Michael sighed, "I'll tell you everything you need to know out behind the bar. If you let me finish eating, I'll give you all your answers."

__

--30 Minutes Later, Heaven's Night Back Alley--

"You did _what?_" demanded Rod.

"It was a rage-inducing drug known as 'BZ;' developed by our research department. But mainly myself."

"Is that what it is?" asked Rod, trying hard to restrain himself from throttling the former scientist before him. "You put drugs in our fucking food!"

"It wasn't up to me, dammit! It wasn't my choice." Michael shouted, then calmly shook his head. "After watching two teenaged POW's rip each other apart in the first human test, I pleaded with them not to use such a thing on people. Especially on our troops. Could you imagine the chaos? The havoc? Of course, you already know the fury of _the Ladder._"

"The what?" asked Rod.

"The Ladder." Michael confirmed. "It was created solely for the purpose to end life. Any life. To awaken from the darkest depths of your mind to kill. I had created a chemical Satan."

Rod was silent for a moment. He remembered the nausea and headaches he had felt on that night in the Delta so many years ago. The drug. The rage. Was this truly the key? "We all went crazy that day. Everybody was fightin' left and right. What happened to Charlie?"

Michael was silent for awhile as well, trying to find the words to tell Rod the awful truth. He never forgot the look on the last soldier's face he had told this. "Charlie was never there."

"_…What?_"

"The Ladder had some… side effects. Hallucinogenic side effects. It warped reality; made you see everyone as an enemy. Your worst fear." Then Michael lowered his head and began to stare at the pavement below him. "But the effects… were supposed to be temporary. It would only wear off after a good 7 hours, but somehow it screwed enough with the brain to alter your perception for the rest of your life. And as you got older, the visions became more… surreal."

"We killed each other?" Rod felt to weak to stand any more, so he collapsed against the wall; sinking to the floor.

"That's why I had to find you, Rod Alessandro. I had to undo the damage I had inflicted."

"But if this is all just one big hallucination," Rod stared at his trembling palms. "Then what about those demons in the subway? What about my friends coming back from the dead? Why are they so real? You saw them too, right?"

"…During testing, me and a colleague decided to strap ourselves down and… use ourselves as test subjects. Thankfully, we hadn't chewed all the way through our straps when we finally came out of it. Oh, Rod, the visions I saw! But the visions hadn't gone away. Not for me."

"You too?" asked Rod. "But you knew it was a mistake! Why take it yourselves?"

"I learn. To use my knowledge of it's power to figure out a way to kill it. As for… the demons, I know almost nothing of them. All I can say is whenever those secret government scum are near, they're eventually right with them. They seem real. Maybe it's because of that plant…."

"What plant?"

"A special flower that grows only here in Silent Hill, called the _White Claudia_. You can use it to create another hallucinogenic drug called _PTV_. It was what we used to give birth to our Ladder."

"You said there was a cure." said Rod. "That you've done this before."

"And there is!" said Michael. "And that's why we came here, to Silent Hill! I can make an antidote from the White Claudia flower to counter-act the hallucinogenic side-effects of the Ladder. But the only bad part is that the flower is illegal to grow due to the fact it can be abused just as easily. Hell, it's the shit the natives got high on before the settlers came. Only one hospital has a license to prescribe PTV, and that is the Alchemilla Hospital all the way across the lake."

"So if we can get this White Claudia flower, I can be normal again?"

After a long silence, Michael finally spoke. "I promise you, Rod. Once I have given you the cure, you will finally know the truth."

"So how do we get it?" asked Rod.

"The former college of mine," began Michael. "He was the head of our research department. His name was David Thomson. And he was completely bat shit over this BZ thing! While I struggled to rid myself and the world of it, you only wanted to bask in the glory of it and discover new ways to make it stronger. And it is this maniac who's now a doctor at the Alchemilla Hospital. One of the top ones, too. We'll just have force him to give us what he's got."

"By what means? Storming in there like crazies? How do you think that'll work?" asked Rod.

"First, I'll talk to him to see if he will comply. If not, I'll figure something out. All I know is for now on we better watch our steps a little more carefully because this whole town I believe is in on this." Michael said. "But first, we need to crash at a motel for tonight. Tomorrow, we'll stock up and head over to the hospital."

Rod sighed. "All right. But one more question."

"Yeah?"

"You said you used the cure before. On who?"

Michael stopped in his tracks and turned only enough to see Rod out the corner of his eye. "Jacob."

"What? Really?" asked Rod, excited. "You spoke to Jacob? When?"

"It wasn't too long before I found you. I had only one vile of the cure saved. I was gonna use it on myself… but I chose to give it to him first."

"So he was cured?"

"…Yes, he was indeed cured. But I must warn you, upon taking it you must come to terms with yourself and fight your fear, for when the time comes it will almost destroy you. Only then will you see it's fury in all it's glory. Once you win, only then can you finally be free. I however, will only be cured of this curse only after you are. Then I can free myself too with out any guilt in doing so."

"So where is he now?" asked Rod.

"I dunno." replied Michael. "After he was cured, I didn't see him again."


	9. Ch 8: The Guerillas' Veil

**-Chapter 8 - The Guerillas' Veil-**

The next day, after the two spent a night at Jack's Inn and ate breakfast at Heaven's Night, Rod and Michael set off down Nathan Avenue around 11:30 a.m.. From there, they would turn left at Sandford Street which would take them around the lake and lead them eventually into the resort area of the town, where they would stay at the motel there until they could set up an appointment with Dr. David Thomson at the Alchemilla Hospital. The trip seemed simple enough, but not to Rod because Michael suggested that they steal bicycles and ride all the way there that way. At first Rod didn't believe he was serious about this, but Michael said it was much safer than taking a vehicle due to the multiple bombing attempts made on him and his friends. Rod wasn't happy with the idea, but nevertheless saw his point. Armed with nothing, they rode off towards the bridges of Nathan Ave.

The mist was extremely thick for that time of day, and as much as it hindered Rod a little, Michael appeared to be doing just fine making his way through it. It would almost seem as he was enjoying it. This annoyed Rod. "_Nice to see… someone's having fun!"_

"Ahh," Michael sighed as his almost clownish hair flowed through the air. "I haven't had a good bike ride out in the country since my college days! I forgot how exhilarating this was!"

"This is… _huff,_ ridicules!" panted Rod. "There'd be more dignity in walking all the way than _this!_ We just left the Bowl-O-Rama with these things and all ready I'm out of juice!"

"You know, for a soldier you're rather inactive."

"I don't recall signing up to fight anybody! I wasn't givin' a choice to risk my ass! I would have been happier sitting at home!"

"Then why did you go?" asked Michael.

"Are you kidding?" asked Rod. "I'm no chicken! Besides, I had my poor mother to take care of. I figured if the army paid as much as it said it did, that would be a good way to help Ma out back at home."

"I'll admit, you're indeed a braver man than I."

"Besides, that was _years_ ago! You don't see me doing jumping jacks and shit now, do you? I'm 36 for Pete's sake!"

"And that's all the more reason for you to stay in shape." Michael advised. "If you don't lead a healthy life, you might just wake up dead if you're not too careful."

The fog eventually cleared a little to reveal the first bridge on Nathan Ave.

"Ah, you see? We're already at the first bridge."

Rod was going to comment when he heard a loud _clank_ followed by his body flying forward off the bike and landing face first on the pavement. Michael immediately stopped his bike and came running towards Rod. "Hey, you alright, man?"

"Aggh, that smarts." grunted Rod as he pulled his hand back from his forehead to reveal some blood from a small cut he had just received from the fall.

"Man, this fog is really something." Michael commented. "You can barely see anything to keep yourself from bumping into something in the road.

It was then that Rod's face grew pale with fright. "I don't think it was me who hit something…"

"Wha? What's the matter…?" It was then that Michael noticed what Rod had. A bayonet was wedged between the front tire and railing. Something had thrown it into there.

"Where not alone! Something's out here with us!" exclaimed Rod.

"Then let's hightail it out of here! C'mon!"

As Michael ran back to his bike, Rod pulled out the bayonet from the tire's wiring and gripped it firmly as he jumped back on his bike and began to peddle towards the bridge as fast as their bikes allowed them. And it wasn't long until another bayonet flew by Alessandro; barely missing him. Then another. Then one finally hooked into the front of Michael's bike, causing him to be thrown off as well.

Michael wasted no time in getting back up. "Ditch the bikes and run!"

Rod jumped off mid-ride and ran behind Michael towards the bridge. And just when things couldn't possibly get worse, from under the bridge crawled what looked like a slightly charred creature who stood upright with the upper part of what could be guessed as his head shaped like a Japanese kasa hat. And it wielded in it's claw a rusty machete. Rod and Michael backed away as it's hunched form staggered mechanically towards them as another leapt over the railing from the side of the rode. And then another fell from an unknown source above Rod and Michael, almost cleaving them before they jumped out of the way. Rod studied the way they looked and it almost reminded him of his enemy back in Nam.

"Rod, I don't think we'll be able to take these things on!" Michael exclaimed.

Gripping his bayonet blade, he eased ever so closer towards one of the grunting machete creatures in hopes of disarming it and taking his weapon. It wildly swung at Rod twice, missing both times. Upon missing the second time, Rod grabbed the arm which wielded the weapon and jammed his bayonet under the creature's flesh-hat. It released it's weapon and fell, though not completely dead yet. As blood spurted from it's wound, Rod picked up the machete and with one swing, decapitated it.

Before Rod could shout at Michael that he would try to get him one as well, another machete creature was already closing in and Rod had barely dodged it's swing. Rod fell backwards, but managed to swing his machete and slice the creatures arm off. He then grabed it and threw it alongside the road towards the on looking Michael. "Take it and run for it!"

Michael picked up the weapon, and as he made an attempt to run passed the other creatures whom had just appeared, Rod impaled the creature above him and shoved him off of his blade with his foot. Once off the ground, he followed after Michael passed the other demons. Thankfully they were spread out enough to avoid easily. And as they made it midway across the bridge, they could hear what was the sound of a speeding car not far behind. Even the bizarre kasa-heads stopped their attack and leapt over the bridge and back into the fog-shrouded waters. Now alone on the bridge, Rod and Michael watched as the bright headlights came into view as if it were two large glowing eyes. Then came the vehicle behind them, a black Chev Impala Sedan which had began to slow down a little. As it reached the bridge, it came to a stop. Rod and Michael stood for awhile, frozen. A part of them knew that inside the vehicle were the ones they had been running from, but before thinking, Rod called out to the driver across the bridge.

"Hey!" he yelled. "You still want me, you piece of shit!"

Silence.

"I stopped being afraid a long time ago! None of you scare me anymore!"

"Rod, stop screaming!" said Michael.

Rod wasn't listening. "What do you say you get your undead asses out of the car and we settle this here and now?"

It was then that all the doors opened on the vehicle, and what Rod watched step out from them was something he had been unprepared to see. Now lined up in front of the bridge, were now four masked men that all resembled the supposed one he had been evading. Rod wasn't aware that there was more. But Rod didn't care, he continued his string of swearing at the men across from him regardless of Michael's protests to leave. The men stood silently, until one of them pulled out what looked like a small black box from it's coat. The masked man then pulled out what looked like an antenna on it. He then held it to the side so both Rod and Michael could get a good look at it. It was a detonation device. Rod's blood turned into ice.

"Shit! They have this bridge rigged!" screamed Michael as he turned to run away. "Get off of it!"

Rod turned to run also. But before they could make it to the edge, one of the machete creatures reappeared from over the side and slashed Michael in the back, sending a scream of pain out of him. Rod stopped and turned around to try and help the scientist. But before Rod could make it to him, the masked man pushed the button on the detonation device. The blasts of several C4's lined across the middle half of the bridge was so strong that it flew Rod off the damaged bridge and into the lake waters. Falling… he had done this before…

_Barely conscious after a great fall, Rod picked himself off the jungle floor. He drunkenly stumbled around the bodies, clutching his head. He began to feel sick again like before. The rush he got from killing, the energy, all left him. He felt as if he had been dreaming the whole nightmare. He looked at the bodies again, this time without the rage he had felt earlier. They were… his comrades! Feeling sick, Rod fell to his knees and began to vomit at the thought that he might have killed his own men. He then heard his commanding officer's voice from behind._

_"Get up."_

_Rod turned and slowly rose to his feet. He stared at the man known as Sergeant Strokie. Something was wrong with him, too. "…Sarge?"_

_Strokie held his gun to the side, not drawn yet. He gave Rod a furious, yet puzzled look. Knowing he was still in danger, Rod looked down at one of the mauled bodies and noticed a pistol still in the soldier's belt holster. Not taking his eyes off Strokie, Rod carefully kneeled down and took the weapon from the dead soldier. Strokie did nothing but continue to watch him. They stood there, never once exchanging words with one another. Each one waiting for the first move. In a flash, both drew, and fired…!_

As Rod drifted back into consciousness among the ruble in the lake, his eyes darted around what was above him. He soon remembered the explosion. Both sides of the bridge had folded into the lake. On the northern side he noticed Michael's body laying right at the edge of the bridge. He wasn't quite sure if Michael was still alive after the blast. Though he watched as one of the masked men picked up Michael by the collar of his shirt and drag him away towards the car. As three of the men loaded him into the trunk, the fourth stood behind and watched Rod as he floated on the surface of the water. The masked man gestured towards him, as if to warn Rod that they would soon capture him as well. Or worse. The man, afterwards, returned to the vehicle waiting on the northern side of the bridge and drove off towards what Rod hoped was Alchemilla Hospital. He was so close to ending this nightmare, he had to try and save Michael.

Rod moved the aching muscles in his arms and swam towards the shore nearby. As he pulled himself up unto the rocks, he scan the area for something, anything for a weapon to fend off the demons. He found an iron bar blown off from the bridge laying next to him. Grabbing it, he pushed himself up off the rocks and used it as a walking crutch until his legs worked out their soreness. Rod was now officially sick of the lies and the bullshit that these men in black had been force feeding him and his dead friends. If it was a war they wanted, it would be a war they would get! Rod treaded towards the business district of Silent Hill, and if anything got in his way this time, then Rod vowed he would show whatever hellish creature the true fury of Rod's Ladder!


End file.
